


"Are You Happy?"

by VickeyStar



Category: Barry (TV 2018), IT - Stephen King, IT Chapter 2
Genre: And Barry, Eddie and the Losers get Richie out of the Life, Fuches is an asshole, I mean, IT - Freeform, Richie Tozier Is Barry Burkman, Same with Eddie, Stanley is alive because fuck you thats why, There are f bombs, Well - Freeform, and a grenade launcher, and mention of a, its fucking, its not gonna be rainbows and unicorns, non-canon compliant, read and find out, there is a flamethrower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 09:03:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20863685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickeyStar/pseuds/VickeyStar
Summary: “Hello?”Silence.Then, a voice.“Richie? It’s Mike, from Derry.”He quirks a confused eyebrow at Fuches, who is gesturing for the phone to be put on speaker.





	"Are You Happy?"

**Author's Note:**

> its 1:07 am we've been working on this since 5:37 pm yesterday no sleep no beta no editing it exists deal with it   
Seriously tho there is some pretty dark stuff in here cuz its Barry going up against Pennywise theres gonna be dark humor and other stuff  
and we is tired so sleep time now  
ALso the Reddie is the ship its just we suck at writing romance so there is that  
Enjoy!   
SleevesCakes/VickeyStar

He’s frantically gesturing at Fuches, trying to get off the phone with Hank when the call comes in.

“Oh— Hank, I gotta go, another call is coming in.”

_“Oh, okay, buddy. Byee!” _

Barry quickly hangs up, answering the call without checking the number.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Then, a voice.

_“Richie? It’s Mike, from Derry.” _

He quirks a confused eyebrow at Fuches, who is gesturing for the phone to be put on speaker.

Instead, Barry goes to the balcony of the small apartment, closing the sliding door behind him.

“Oh, my god, Mike! Hi! Gosh, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? What’s up, bud?”

His voice regains the squeak that he’s used to suppressing, his acting classes actually paying off as his voice doesn’t show a hint of the sudden and visceral _fear_ that pumps through his veins as he thinks about Derry.

_“Yeah, Richie. It’s been roughly twenty-seven years. I’ve been good, but… How much do you remember?” _

He thinks back, pushing past the fear as he focuses on the memories.

Richie had only met Fuches after his family had moved away, in his later teens, so the older man wouldn’t know anything about Derry, Maine, and why it scares him so much. His eyebrows furrow when he thinks about it further, Mike waiting patiently on the phone.

“I remember… having glasses. I remember you, and… we had other friends. Something about spaghetti?”

Mike lets out a relieved chuckle.

_“Yeah, we were the Losers’ Club. We have a friend named Eddie, you used to call him Eddie Spaghetti, among other nicknames. But yeah, before you all moved away we made a promise to come back, twenty-seven years later, for a reunion. Think you can make it?” _

Something in the other man’s voice is telling him that it isn’t a request, so much as a cry for help.

Barry considers it.

“I’ll need some time to clear my schedule, I should be able to make it there within the week, though.”

There’s a relieved sigh, like Barry had just told him that God personally secured a place for him in heaven.

_“Yeah, that’s what the others said. Can you pick up Stan? You’re in the LA area, right? He’s in Atlanta, I can text you the address. Something tells me if I call him about it he won’t handle it so well.” _

Barry remembers Stan.

_Jewish, bird lover, clean, OCD. _

_Afraid. _

Yeah, he remembers him.

“Definitely. Just text me his address, I’ll pick him up on my way.”

_“Thanks, man. I gotta go.” _

“Yeah. See you soon.”

Mike hangs up, and Barry takes a deep breath, texting Sally to let her know that he’s taking a few weeks off of acting class for family troubles.

He turns around, seeing a fuming Fuches standing just inside the door, ready to question him to an inch of his life.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Barry shrugs, awkwardly squeezing past him as he glares.

The aspiring actor grabs an empty duffle bag, opening his dresser drawers and packing some of his newer, touristy shirts that he had bought in the beginning of his residence in LA.

“Barry, what the fuck are you doing?” Fuches asks, still hovering.

He sighs, putting the clothing in the bag and thinking of what artillery he’d bring.

Ideally, none, but when has his life ever been that simple?

“An old friend called, they need some help. I gotta go help them, you stay here and keep things cool with the Chechens.”

His back immediately tenses, subtly picking up on the sudden wall of anger that his mentor has become.

“No.”

Barry frowns to himself, continuing to pack as he grabs another duffle bag and moves to his guns.

One part of him thinks, _these are childhood friends, a simple reunion, _but another, louder part is screaming for him to bring all of it and more.

_Maybe Hank has a tank? _

He shakes his head at himself, getting jerked around to face Fuches.

“Barry. You are not leaving. I need you here, the Chechens need you here, we’ve got a ton of jobs lined up for the next month! You can’t just bail on us for… for a stranger!”

Barry surges forward, pushing his mentor into the wall.

“He isn’t a stranger. He is an old friend, and you don’t get to decide where I go and what I do.”

He retreats quickly, having never been so openly against Fuche’s direct orders before and realizing that he’s pushed them both into new territory.

The man in front of him looks shocked, unable to comprehend Barry refusing him, before a cocky look spreads across his face.

“What about your actor friends? They’ll definitely throw a fit about this.”

Barry shrugs, almost done packing.

“I already texted Sally. She’ll tell them it’s a family matter, they won’t ask.”

Fuches goes back to glaring.

“I’m going with you.”

Barry slams the zipped bags onto the bed.

“No.”

His voice is firmer than ever as he stares his mentor down, knowing he has to do this without him.

Fuches studies his expression, face sinking.

“Give me something to work with, kiddo, I just want to help you.”

_I doubt that. _

“You can help by keeping the Chechens happy until I get back. I’ll call Hank when I leave, but until then I need you to cover for me. Cancel my jobs for the next few weeks, I’ll let you know when to get new ones.”

Fuches lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Fine.”

Barry lifts an eyebrow.

“I won’t follow you.” The other man lies, and it’s moments like these that Barry’s glad he never told this man his real name, and that his parents were bemused enough to go along with his ruse.

He’s also glad for the secret, legitimate bank accounts.

“Okay.”

And that’s that.

~*~

He drives three towns over, at the crack of dawn a day later.

Barry’s gotten time off of work, dropped in on Cousineau to give him a story that the man clearly knew was bullshit, but let it slide because Barry managed to fool the other acting students with his story.

_(“Grade A acting, kid. Whatever it is, you can call me. I’ll answer. You may not like what I say, but I’ll answer.”) _

The man may be tough, but he’s also soft, in a way Barry aspires to be.

He focuses on the road, keeping an eye out for any cars on the open road as he drives.

Barry’s fairly sure he’d ditched Fuches at the interstate, but he’s not taking any chances.

That’s why he’s driving to an airport three towns over, anyway.

Go big or go home applies in everything.

Including ditching your overbearing, potentially abusive, mentor.

~*~

He’s on a plane to Atlanta an hour from then, passport saying Richie Tozier.

~*~

Richie takes a breath, resettling into his persona of _comedian/button-up Hawaiian shirt lover/Trashmouth/Old Friend_ before he knocks on the apartment door.

A woman opens it a minute later, a friendly, if slightly confused smile on her face as she greets him.

He puts a grin on his own face, hoping it isn’t as fake as he feels.

“Hi, I’m looking for Stanley Uris? I’m an old friend, from childhood, Richie Tozier?”

He can tell she has questions, but a voice behind her speaks up.

“Trashmouth?”

His grin becomes a little more genuine when he sees Stanley, tall and proud and still _Stan_.

Richie reads his body language easily, knowing that the man in front of him is still open and honest, logical and protective, if a little scared.

This is a man with no secrets.

“Hey, Stan the Man. Long time no see, am I right?”

Stan gives one of his small, genuine smiles, pulling Richie inside the apartment with a hug as his friend puts the duffle bags down.

“Yeah, almost thirty years, right?” His face freezes up a bit at that, a memory obviously clearing up in his mind as he stares at Richie.

His eyes are begging him, _don’t say it. Please don’t tell me, I want no part in this. _

Richie can feel his eyes grow soft. _I’m sorry. We promised. We gotta go. _

He doesn’t know what has his friend so worried, but he still follows concernedly as they move to what looks like Stan’s office.

“So, Richie, was it? I’m Patricia, Stan’s wife. I’m in the middle of making dinner, it’ll be done in a few minutes if you’d like to join us.” Patricia greets, smiling warmly despite her husband’s slight panic.

“Sure, that would be wonderful.”

The woman goes back to the kitchen, throwing a comment about catching up over her shoulder as she leaves.

“It’s back.”

Richie sighs, seeing his friend’s shaking hands.

“Mike called me yesterday. It’s just a reunion, getting the Losers’ Club together, checking in on how our lives are.”

Stan grabs his hands, thumb pressing into the one scar he can’t remember getting on his left hand.

“It’s _back_, Richie. How do you not remember?”

There’s whispers in the back of his head, a mist of a memory just barely forming as Stan talks.

“The clown. We didn’t kill It. Damnit, I knew it wasn’t over. I can’t go back. I can’t go back.”

The man is near hysterics, moving toward his desk as if he’s searching for something.

Richie’s paralyzed by fear as a name crosses his mind.

_Don’t you know? _The memory whispers giddily. _I’m Pennywise, the Dancing Clown! _

He snaps out of it when his friend finds a letter opener, putting it to his wrist in a panic.

Richie’s never moved faster in his life when he pushes the blade away from Stan, grabbing his shoulders.

“Hey. We’re going to be fine. I swear to you, we’re going to be just fine. We can kill It, this time. We _will_ kill It this time. Even if I have to get a fucking tank, or a nuke, we will find a way to kill that motherfucking sonofabitch.”

Stan stares at him, shocked into silence.

“I can’t do that if you kill yourself, Stanley. We need all of us, if we want to kill that fucking clown, you know this. We’re bravest and strongest when we’re together.”

Stan’s still dazed, nodding agreeably as his wife calls out that dinner’s ready.

When he offers Richie their guest room for the night, he doesn’t refuse.

~*~

He spends most of the flights catching up on Derry news, frowning.

_Jesus fucking Christ. They threw someone off a fucking bridge?_

This is what he’s walking into.

Fun.

~*~

“Why did we have to zigzag across the country airports, again?” Stan asks, gripping the bag in his lap with white hands as they drive toward Derry.

Richie shrugs, mind going to the bag of guns in the trunk.

_Shit. _

He’s got a phone call to make.

“Just ‘cuz.”

He pulls over at the next gas station, Stan lifting an eyebrow at the almost-full tank.

“Gotta pee.” Richie mutters, going over to the side of the building as he pulls out a burner phone.

_“Barry!” _The Chechen picks up on the first ring, because of course he does.

_“How’ve you been? I haven’t heard from you in days! Fuches said you have a cold, the men are making soups, it’s a bit of a competition, to be honest.” _

Richie takes a deep breath, wondering if this is how Stan felt when they were kids, having to deal with Richie’s comments.

_No, I was nowhere near this bad. _

“Yeah, I… I’m really down for the count.” He coughs a bit, sticking to the story. “I had to leave town for a while, clear my lungs from the smoggy air, it’s a conditional thing.”

There’s a moment of silence.

_“Oh, of course! Whatever you need, Barry, you know I got you! We can have oxygen brought in next time, though, no? I want you to take as long as you need, we’re all good here.” _

His eyes close in relief, thankful for the Chechen’s ability to buy bullshit like he does express shipping.

“Thanks, Hank. Talk to you later.”

He hangs up, going back to the car to see that Stan’s snacking on some beef jerky, one bottle of water and a bottle of soda in the cupholders of the car.

“You took too long peeing.” Stan shrugs, clearly aware that wasn’t what Richie was doing.

Richie doesn’t push his luck, simply pulling back onto the road.

~*~

They get one room, setting it up themselves as nobody appears behind the front desk.

Richie puts his weapons bag under his bed, knowing Stan’s not one to snoop as the other man showers.

“That bathroom is horrendous.” Stan informs him, rubbing his hair on a towel as he leaves the bathroom.

Richie simply _hmms_ in response, looking at his phone.

“Mike says everyone’s meeting up at the Chinese place down the street, we should get going.”

He looks up to see Stan already dressed, with a nervous expression on his face.

“You okay for this?”

Stan snaps out of his thousand-yard stare, nodding efficiently as they leave their hotel room.

~*~

They see two people, one of which they’re certain is Beverly.

“Wow.” Richie remarks once they’re close enough.

The two pull away from each other, having been mid-hug as Stan grins.

“You two look amazing, what the fuck happened to me?”

Beverly’s eyes narrow before widening.

“Richie? Stanley? Oh my god, hi!”

“Hey, I’m Ben.” The man says, and Richie’s eyebrows raise as Beverly hugs him.

Stan greets the two, the four of them heading into the restaurant.

“They’re far too chipper to know.” Stan whispers to him, and he nods.

He’d also noticed the fading bruises on Beverly’s arms and cheek, as well as how her clothing looked recently bought.

The pale mark on her ring finger answers that question, and he’s already planning a pitstop on his way back to LA.

The four of them get to the table Mike reserved, Richie seeing the other three and panicking when he sees someone who could only be Eddie.

He doesn’t know how to react to the other man’s presence, eyes wide as he panics, so he does the obvious thing and bangs the gong.

“This official meeting of the Losers’ Club has begun.” He announces, grinning as everyone smiles back.

He’s clocked the exits, knows their waitress’s face, and sits with a clear view of the entrance.

Stan sits between him and Eddie, rolling his eyes at their obliviousness.

The other six spend time telling everyone about their lives, as Richie sits back and watches.

Big Bill, the author, has mostly gotten over his stutter as he speaks, barely tripping up at all. Happy with his life, not-so-happy with his marriage.

Richie remembers reading one of his books, in Afghanistan.

The only thing he remembers is hating the ending.

_Probably shouldn’t mention that._

He studies Ben the architect, a bachelor with some wealth to his name as well, sending Beverly little, wistful glances throughout the dinner.

_Clearly still in love. _

A quick glance at Eddie.

Married, unhappily, cautious as always and quick to defend himself.

_That’s a minefield that isn’t worth wandering, tonight. _

He turns to study Beverly, picking up the same things from when they first saw each other, learning that she’s a fashion designer who’s fairly well-off. He smiles when she says she’s filing for divorce, proud.

Stan’s relaxed, surrounded by his friends.

For the first time since he remembered in his apartment, Stan is smiling openly as he sips wine and trades stories with his friends.

Mike’s more relaxed than he had sounded on the phone, likely because of the six other people sitting in the chairs around him as they reminisce their childhood memories.

The one thing that strikes Richie the most is how _honest _they all are.

There’s no secrets, nothing to hide as the six of them laugh and tease each other.

Well.

Mike’s obviously hiding _something_, but whatever it is, it’s manageable.

Something’s off about Eddie, too, now that he thinks about it.

That’s when he jumps in, after a couple shots.

“Wait, so Eddie, you got married?”

Eddie’s head snaps to him.

“Yeah, why’s that so funny, dickwad?”

Richie snorts. “What, to like, a woman?”

Eddie glares. “Fuck you.”

Richie laughs with the others, parroting his words back to him as they cheer.

Eventually, the question of what he’s been doing with his life comes up.

“—what about you, Trashmouth, are you married?” Bill asks, genuinely curious.

Bev snorts into her drink, them all a tad drunk.

“I don’t believe it.”

He _has_ to, with that comment.

“No, I am. I am!” He insists over the denial.

“You’re married?” Eddie asks, shock and something else in his voice.

“You didn’t hear I got married?” Richie nods. He hesitates just enough to drop the punchline as Bill drinks. “Yeah! Me and your mom are very, very happy together.”

He watches in triumph as Bill chokes on his beer, everyone laughing as Eddie sputters.

They all continue laughing together, getting progressively drunker and drunker as the fortune cookies arrive.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Ben speaks. “Now that we’re all together, the memories come back faster and faster.”

Everyone’s silent as they think of what happened when he called them.

Eddie pipes up. “I crashed my car when Mike called.”

He waves off their concern, Richie speaking next.

“I threw up. I feel fine, now, but in that moment…”

“I felt like my heart was gonna pound right out of my chest.” Ben adds.

“It was like I couldn’t breathe.” Bill continues. “It was like t-this p-pure… f-f-f—”

“Fear.”

They all look at Mike.

He’s grimly staring at the table, frowning as he squints at his empty plate.

“It’s fear, what you felt.”

Bill speaks, meeting Mike’s eyes.

“Why do we all feel that way? You remember something we don’t.”

Richie’s eyes don’t leave Mike’s as Stanley’s fingers wrap around his wrist under the table.

“Yeah.”

Mike glances back down, the table silent as Richie glances at Stan, seeing him pale.

“Something happens, when you leave this town. The further you get, the hazier your memory is. You forget this town, the people in it. But the thing is, I never left. So yeah,” his eyes meet Bill’s. “I remember all of it.”

They all stare at the table, now, silent. 

“Pennywise.” Beverly whispers, and they all shudder.

“That fucking clown.” Eddie curses, no doubt feeling the fear they all feel in their hearts.

“Mike, you said you wanted our help with something, what were you talking about?” Bill asks, wary.

Richie listens silently through Mike’s explanation, letting his present self’s skills slip through again as he listens to the other man.

“Mike—” Stanley tries to cut in as Mike describes peoples’ deaths.

Ben tries to get everyone to calm down, letting him explain.

“We made an oath. That’s why I brought you back, that’s why you’re here. To finish It, for good.”

“Well that got dark fast.” Richie comments, frowning.

The lucky seven open their fortune cookies, frowning as they see the messages.

“Mine just says ‘y’all’.” Ben comments, putting his paper on the table.

“Yeah, mine says ‘make’.” Richie adds his.

Bill frowns, standing as he gestures everyone to put theirs on the table.

“Mine says ‘it’.” Eddie frowns, then gasps.

There’s a baited breath as they remember.

Eddie stands up with his eyes wide, throwing the paper onto the table and away from him.

They spend a moment arguing over the words.

“Does it mean… IT? What does that mean? Is It back? Are we safe? What the fuck is going on? What the fuck does that mean?”

Bill’s rearranging the words, only six papers on the table.

“Glad y’all could make it, love…?”

They look at Beverly, whose expression is frozen.

She slowly puts her paper on the end of the sentence.

“Glad y’all could make it, love… Pennywise.”

The last word is a whisper as it leaves Bill’s lips, them all jumping away as the bowl of fortune cookies rumbles.

Richie pulls Stan behind him, Ben pulling Eddie back as Bill gets Beverly. Mike backs into the fish tank, letting out a yell as the bowl leaks a black, tar-like liquid, the fortune cookies exploding as eyeballs and tiny, batlike creatures break out of them.

“What the fuck?” Richie asks, Stan gripping his arm tightly.

“It isn’t real!” Mike yells, picking up a chair.

Richie’s wishing he’d managed to sneak a gun onto his person past Stan, but if what Mike says is true, it’s probably best that he couldn’t’ve done it.

Although, seeing how the man is now slamming the chair into the table as he yells, he’s not entirely sure he should base his actions on what Mike says.

Richie hears yelling as Eddie ducks behind Ben, the bats flying around them.

“Eddie!” Richie yells instinctively, concern making him want to say _screw it_ and throw his butter knife at the creatures.

He wouldn’t miss.

Richie’s reaching forward to grab the knife when a timid voice speaks from the entrance of their private room.

“Is everything alright?”

They all look over to see the waitress, standing in the archway and looking very confused.

There’s a quiet moment of _what the fuck?_ as the group glances around the table, realizing that it was, in fact, not real.

“Yeah, can we get the check, please?” Stanley asks, playing at composed while his hands squeeze the life out of Richie’s arm.

The waitress simply nods, frowning as she leaves.

~*~

They’re in the parking lot, Eddie already planning his trip home.

“Mike, why the fuck would you bring us here?” He demands, Richie avoiding his flailing arms as he yells.

Richie remembers the clown, knows that he can protect himself if he needs to.

Eddie doesn’t know that.

Mike tries to defend himself, bringing up the blood oath, and Eddie yells back.

“_Fuck_ the blood oath! I don’t want to die! You should’ve just said ‘Hey, wanna come back to your own personal hell to be brutally murdered?’ I wouldn’t’ve come!”

Richie sighs as Eddie turns to him and Stanley, expecting them to side with him.

Internally, yes, he is pissed that Mike lied, and part of him doesn’t want to deal with this _bullshit_.

But.

If they don’t stop It now, more kids’ll go missing.

Who the fuck else will do something? Another group of twelve-year-olds to be traumatized, forced to return twenty-seven years from now, too?

Eddie must read it on his face, cuz he frowns.

“Stan?”

Even Richie waits with a baited breath, not turning to look at the man behind him.

He feels a hand wrap around his wrist.

“I say we end this. For good.”

Strong words, from him, as he nods to Mike.

Richie shrugs.

“If we don’t who the fuck will?”

And that’s that, as a frustrated Eddie leaves them, making his way back to the hotel.

~*~

Beverly convinces Ben to stay, unnerved by some dreams she’s been having, as Richie and Stanley go back to their hotel room.

“You okay?” Richie asks, observing his friend.

Stan takes a moment to really think about it.

“No. But I will be, once this is over.”

Richie nods, and once Stan’s fallen asleep, he quietly goes over what he could bring of his arsenal, stashing a few guns around the hotel room.

_Better to be safe. _

~*~

Richie eventually gets bored in his room, unable to sleep, so he sneaks past Stan and downstairs to the bar, where Beverly and Ben are talking.

“Beverly, I heard you. Why were you so shocked to see Stan? There’s something you’re not telling us.”

Richie lifts an eyebrow, listening in.

“I’ve seen all of us die.” Beverly finally admits, Eddie tossing his suitcases down the stairs just after.

Richie stares at her in shock.

“What now?” Eddie asks, dreadful.

~*~

Eddie’s in hysterics, again, and it’s everything Richie has to not pull him into a hug, like he used to.

“If we leave here, eventually, we will die.”

Richie frowns. “Yeah, that’s what happens. People live, people die. That’s life.”

“No,” Beverly shakes her head. “We’re affected by It just as much as It affects us. If we leave Derry, we’re all gonna kill ourselves.”

“How come the rest of us aren’t seeing that shit? What makes her so different?” Richie asks, Mike and Bill approaching.

“Deadlights.”

Richie tunes Mike out, seeing Stan on the stairs as he listens in.

He nods toward the group, Stan quietly taking a place beside him as Mike starts talking about rituals.

Bullshit.

“A tribal ritual? Do you honestly think that’d work? It’s bullshit, Mike, why can’t we just kick the can down the road, deal with It in another twenty-seven years?”

Eddie does the math. “You wanna do this when we’re seventy?”

Beverly’s voice breaks. “That’s not how it works.”

The two look at her, still crying as she speaks. “None of us make it another twenty years. And the way it ends…”

Okay. He changed his mind.

He really shouldn’t’ve fucking come.

He’s got too much shit to deal with alone, and—

Now Bill’s siding with Mike.

“We have to remember.”

“Remember what?”

~*~

“I think it was somewhere around here, actually.”

“Mike, you’re telling me that in the twenty-seven years we were gone, you didn’t visit the clubhouse at all?” Stanley asks, disinterested.

Mike simply shrugs, Ben speaking up again.

“Guys, I think it’s—”

He’s cut off as he falls through the roof.

The six of them stare in shock, confused.

“Found it! It’s okay, come on down!”

The seven of them hunch over, slightly, as they enter the clubhouse.

Eddie reaches down, picking up the small red paddleball as they all remember the day Ben showed them the place, same proud smile on his face as the one he’s wearing now.

The Losers spread out, Richie heading to a small corner as he remembers, getting struck with what Cousineau would call actor’s inspiration.

He faces the others, hidden in the shadows.

“Heya, Losers!” He says, smile on his face.

They all look forward, actually stumbling back as he talks.

“Ready to float?”

Ben actually looks ready to throw down, and while he knows he could probably hold the guy off, that’s not a fight he wants to have, so he hops out.

“Remember? He used to say that all the time, and then he did that stupid little dance.” He mimics the dance with a smile on his face, not missing the relieved expressions on everyone’s faces.

“Jesus fuck, Richie, are you gonna be like this the entire time we’re back here?” Eddie asks, looking half a breath away from an asthma attack.

Okay.

He’s clearly misread the situation.

Richie straightens up, frowning.

“Just trying to add some levity to the situation, I guess I’ll just go fuck myself.”

The others brush him off with semi-forgiving smiles as they explore some more, Bill pulling a can out of the wall.

“Guys.”

They look at it, seeing a note.

“That’s right.” Stan speaks up, taking it from Bill’s hands and pulling out a hairnet.

“For use of Losers, only.”

They all smile vaguely at the memory, Stanley looking similarly proud as Richie and Eddie glance at the hammock.

“Think it’ll still hold us?” Richie asks, jokingly.

Eddie looks like he’s seriously considering it, and there’s a pause between the two of them as they glance at each other, missing the knowing smiles from the rest of the group.

“Nah.”

Okay, then.

“The ritual requires a sacrifice.” Mike pipes up.

Richie’s eyebrows lift.

“A sacrifice? I nominate Eddie.”

“What? Why me?”

Richie grins. “You’re little, you’ll fit on a barbeque.”

“I’m 5’9, it’s like, the average height in most of the world.”

Mike interrupts their bickering, talking about artifacts and splitting up.

“We’ve found Stan’s artifact, so he’s good.”

They all take a moment, Eddie arguing the logic of splitting up.

“You each need to find your artifact, alone. When you do, meet me and Stan at the library.”

Richie glances toward his friend, who is staring at the hairnet in bemused surprise.

“You good with that?”

Stan glances up, immediately understanding.

“Yeah. Mike and I’ll catch up.”

Richie sighs, agreeing to split up.

~*~

He goes to the arcade, because it’s the one place he went when he wanted to be alone, as a child. It’s closed down, having gone out of business, and it’s almost too easy to hoist himself up the fire escape and jimmy the lock on the window.

He walks downstairs, leaving footprints in the dust as he walks past the abandoned gaming consoles.

There’s another memory, here.

Trying to emerge like a fog, forcing its way to the surface of his mind.

He was playing speed racer with someone… like him.

His mind is foggy, getting clearer and clearer as he thinks on it.

_Bower’s cousin. _

Right.

Back then, he could’ve sworn they were—

Hmm.

He’d run into the park, after that.

Richie makes his way to the front door, seeing it’s unlocked and he broke a lock for nothing.

Something catches his eye on the way out.

A token.

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he picks it up.

His breathing is getting slowly harsher and harsher, as he walks to the park, to see that _fucking _Paul Bunion statue.

It’s terrifying, how that statue can bring back a memory, a hallucination of the statue attacking him.

He’s staring at it when—

“See you there, handsome.”

The _fuck_ is wrong with that dude’s face?

He looks at the paper that fuckface shoved into his arms, eyes widening in fear as he sees that it’s an invitation to a wake.

_His _wake.

“What the _fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fu—_”

“Didja miss me, Richie?”

His eyes jerk his head up to the shoulder of the statue, where that mother_fucking clown with the motherfucking balloons_ is sitting, swinging It’s fucking legs like a god damn child.

Well.

You are what you—

Nope. _Not going there. _

“Cuz I missed you! No one wants to play with the clown anymore… Play a game with me, wouldja? How about street fighter? Oh, you like that one, don’t you?” Pennywise’s movements are exaggerated, just like he remembers, and he swears there’s an honest-to-god tear rolling down that motherfucker’s cheek from the lonely comment.

“Or maybe… truth or dare?”

His heart stops.

“Oohoohoo, you wouldn’t want anyone to pick truth, would you, Richie?” Pennywise asks, rising from the statue and float-walking toward him.

“You wouldn’t want anyone to know what you’re hiding?”

Richie’s eyes are wide, hands shaking as they reach for the gun in his waistband.

The clown floats down, singing.

“I know your secret, your dirty little secret. I know your secret, your _dirty little secret!_”

Richie doesn’t know which secret, but he knows that the truth getting out about either one is equally terrifying.

His friends, finding out that he’s a murderer who goes on killing sprees when he gets pissed off, or his friends finding out about—

“Should I tell them, Richie?” Pennywise asks, standing on the ground.

Richie closes his eyes, just like he did before.

“This isn’t real. _This isn’t happening. _This isn’t real, it isn’t happening, it isn’t real.”

He opens his eyes, and Pennywise runs toward him.

His gun is up and firing before he can blink.

It knocks the clown on It’s ass.

Richie scrambles further back in fear as the clown roars.

“Come back and play with the clown!” Pennywise screeches after him as he runs.

~*~

He needs an arsenal.

He needs _everything he can fucking get. _

He needs…

He needs.

He needs a fucking tank.

Richie runs up the stairs, past Ben and Beverly, not even knowing what he’s rambling as he plans.

Ben’s following him up the stairs and into the motel room, but he doesn’t care as he drags the bag out from under the bed.

“Richie, hey, what— What the _fuck_?”

Richie ignores him as he pulls the guns out of the duffle bag, thankful that Stan isn’t in the room to see the guns.

“Richie, what the fuck is all of this?” Ben asks as Richie assembles all his weaponry.

“What the fuck is this? Really, Ben? I’ll tell you what the fuck it isn’t. It’s not enough. It’s not _fucking enough.” _

“What do you mean, it’s not enough?” Ben asks, staring concernedly at the artillery.

“I mean I emptied a fucking clip into the clown’s fucking face, and it barely made a _fucking dent, Benny.” _

He picks up his burner phone, sending a quick text to Hank.

**Barry: I need fucking guns. **

**Barry: I need flamethrowers**

**Barry: I need fucking grenade launchers**

**Barry: I’m in fucking Derry Maine and I need a fucking tank. **

“Richie, what’s going on?” Ben asks again, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Richie gets a reply on the burner.

**H: On it! <3 **

“I got more.”

They’re interrupted by shouting downstairs.

“Go check that out. I’ll be fine.” Richie insists, hands not shaking as he loads the assault rifle he’d brought.

Ben looks reluctant, so he holds his gaze.

“Go.”

He punctuates his word with a _chink_ as he puts a bullet in the chamber of the rifle.

Ben leaves.

~*~

Richie tucks a small shotgun under his shirt in its holster as he steps downstairs.

“Where’s Bill?”

Beverly stares at him helplessly as Ben answers.

“He went to the fair to save a kid.”

Richie practically growls.

“I’ll get him.”

Beverly goes upstairs, suddenly screaming.

Richie and Ben’s heads snap in her direction, both men running for the stairs.

“Eddie, oh my god!” Beverly screams.

“Bowers is in my bathroom.”

A tiny voice in the back of Richie’s head says how that’s _peak comedy, he’ll never beat that. _

Ben tries to run into Eddie’s hotel room, but Richie stops him.

“Stay with them.”

Ben frowns, Beverly putting pressure on Eddie’s face.

“Why? He has a knife!”

Richie pulls out his gun.

“I’m the one with the gun.”

That shuts Ben up.

Richie is Barry, in that moment, relying on muscle memory to clear the area.

He gets to the bathroom in time to see Bowers dive out the window, walking away and laughing.

“Okay, he’s gone. I need to get to the fair, Ben, keep these two safe. I’ll see you later.” He brushes past them, not even bothering to be himself.

“Richie!” Ben grabs his arm, pulls him back.

Whatever he sees in Richie’s expression must’ve frightened him, because he’s quick to let go.

“Keep them safe.”

~*~

“If I were a creepy clown, where would I go?” He asks himself, looking around.

That’s when he spots it.

The _fucking _mirror maze.

He hears Bill shouting.

“Kid! Run away! You gotta run away! Please! Please don’t hurt him, please!”

Richie speeds through the maze, not bothering with fear as he hears his friend’s cries.

“Bill! Kid! Get down!” He shouts, behind them.

“What the_ fuck?” _Bill shouts back, ducking down as Richie fires the shotgun at the glass, breaking it immediately.

“Fuck you, ya fucking clown!” Richie yells, reloading and firing again. The glass breaks on the other side, tiny shotgun pellets hitting Pennywise in the face as Bill drags the kid behind the two adults.

Richie’s face is pure rage as he fires again and again, Pennywise roaring one last time as he vanishes.

“Are you two okay?” Richie asks, turning to face them.

Bill’s focused on the kid.

“Are you okay?”

The kid nods, terrified.

Richie looks at Bill, and he can tell the other man has questions.

“We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Bill nods.

~*~

They make it back to the hotel before dark.

Ben, Beverly, and Eddie are standing in the doorway of Richie’s hotel room, concerned and frowning as Eddie pokes at his bandaged cheek.

“What the fuck is up, people, we gotta meet Mike at the library.” Richie approaches, trusting Bill with the kid.

“You… have a visitor.”

Richie’s eyebrow lifts, then he hears a voice.

“Ah! My friend!”

His eyes widen, every atom in his body immediately set to kill.

He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep, supposedly calming breath.

Richie looks into his room to see a bald motherfucker who’s just asking to get fucken’_ murked_.

Hank grins.

“You called?”

~*~

_“What the fuck are you doing here?” _Barry hisses after he slams the door shut.

Hank frowns, seemingly genuinely hurt.

“I brought gifts. And you asked for me, ya? You ask, I come. That is us.”

Barry takes another _deep-fucking-breath_.

“I asked for a rocket launcher, flamethrower, and tank. Where the fuck did you think I asked for you?”

Hank frowns. “Exactly. You ask for flames, rocket, and Hank. I brought all three. Flamethrower, grenade launcher, and me!”

He’s like a fucking puppy, proud of himself for pissing on the couch.

“_Tank_, Hank. With a T. Not a fucken’ H. Tank. Not Hank.” Barry annunciates.

Hank’s frown deepens, a bit.

“Do you not want me? I told you, you called me, I come. You tell me to come, I come happy. You don’t want me, I come sad. Either way, I come. I come here to be with you, to help you come back to me. Capiche?”

There are some days that Barry is convinced Hank knows every single innuendo that comes out of his own mouth, and still chooses to speak.

“Fucking—The one time I’m actually trying to protect your bald ass, you won’t listen to me? Jesus fucking Christ.”

There’s a timid knock on the door.

“One second, guys!”

There’s another, sterner knock with a voice.

“Barry, you better open this _fucking door!” _

His eyes widen again.

“You brought _fucking Fuches?” _

Hank shrugs.

“He insisted! He was worried, how could I not bring him along?”

Barry’s mentor is now consistently pounding on the door, ignoring the Losers as they try to calm him down.

Barry walks over, opens the door as he goes to punch it, and pulls the overweight man into the hotel room.

“Hold on, guys.”

He closes the door on four and a half very concerned faces.

He turns around, only to get socked in the jaw.

“Ow, fuck, Fuches, what the fuck?”

He rubs it.

His jaw isn’t broken, but it’ll bruise like a motherfucker.

“That’s for fucking abandoning me! It’s been three days, Barry, you said you’d check in!”

Huh. He hadn’t noticed.

“Look, Fuches, I don’t have time for this shit. There’s an evil clown trying to kill us, and I gotta go kill it. So fuck off.”

Fuches starts yelling again, then they hear a kid crying in the hallway.

Barry glares.

“You upset the kid, ya fucking monster. Look what you’ve done. The poor thing’s got anxiety.”

He opens the hotel door to see the kid in Bill’s arms, crying into his shoulder.

Bill meets his eyes, concerned.

Richie purses his lips.

“Bring him in here.”

Bill quirks an eyebrow, but trusts him.

Richie sits the kid down on the one spot on the bed that isn’t covered with guns.

“Hey, kid. What’s wrong?”

“The clown’s gonna get me.” The kid cries, trying to wipe his cheeks as tears run down his face.

Richie scrunches his own face up.

“No, he’s not. What’s your name?”

“D-Dean.” The kid hiccups.

“Okay, Dean. Do you know why the clown isn’t gonna get you?” Richie asks, picking the kid up and holding him against his chest.

Dean’s really too big for that, but damnit, he’s a kid.

“W-why?”

“Because I’m a mercenary. Do you know what that is?”

He ignores the gasps from his friends, focusing on the kid as he nods.

“Y-you kill people for money.”

Well.

True, but not the point.

“Yeah, but all those people are bad people. I kill bad people. And this clown? Super bad. And you wanna know what I’m gonna do to this super bad clown?”

Dean looks hopeful.

“What?”

Richie stops, turning to see Hank’s childishly hopeful look.

“Hank, will you shut the fuck up.”

The Chechen seems to realize he just stepped on a moment, nodding and actually miming zipping his lips and giving Fuches the key.

Fuches, the asshole, goes along with it, putting the imaginary key in his pocket.

Richie’s looking at them like they’re insane when he feels Dean giggle into his chest.

_Oh. Right. _

“I’m gonna fucking kill this clown, Dean. It won’t lay a hand on you, I promise.” Richie announces, smiling confidently at Dean as the kid hesitantly smiles back.

“But,” this is such a dumb idea, “in order for me to do that, you need to stay here with my friends, Hank and Fuches.”

Hank actually claps, jumping in the air in excitement as he hums against closed lips.

Fuches plays along, handing him the imaginary key as he glares at Richie, knowing what he just did.

The three of them may be shitty people, but they’ll protect kids whenever they can.

Richie lets Dean run into Hank’s arms, the two of them jumping in excitement together as the Losers get ready to head to the library.

“Dean,” Bill calls, pulling him away from the two men to say goodbye.

Also giving Richie the chance to talk to them.

“If anything at all happens to that kid, I’ll chop both of your dicks off, and shove them so far up your own asses that they stick into each others’ throats, understand?”

The two men blink twice, then nod vigorously.

Richie smiles. “Good.”

He faces the Losers, picking up a couple of guns.

“Hey, muscle man. Can you get those two cases?”

Ben quirks an eyebrow.

“The ones marked ‘fire’ and ‘explosives’?”

The grin turns into a hellish smirk.

“Yup.”

~*~

They’re walking to the library.

“So… Richie.”

He sighs; knowing this moment would come.

“Yeah, I’m a mercenary. I’ve killed people. I know how to kill people. And I’m going to kill this fucking clown. Any more questions?”

Silence.

“Okay.”

~*~

When they get to the library, they hear Stanley’s panicked yells.

“Stan!” Richie yells, running ahead of everyone.

They all see him, pointing frantically at the other end of the room as Mike fights Bowers off.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Richie pulls his gun out, shooting the psychopath in the head.

“Oh, my god, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m ready to finish this, let’s go.”

Richie looks to Stan.

“You ready?”

Stan looks at Mike, seemingly having a mental conversation.

“Yeah.”

Richie nods, picking up a strange vase.

One of the sides is scratched out, but Mike snatches it from his hands before he can ask.

“Let’s go.”

~*~

They’re standing in front of the house.

“We all go in, we all go out. Losers stick together.”

“Anyone wanna say something?” Eddie pipes up, watching Beverly hold the old fencepost.

“Richie said it best.” Bill smirks.

“Me? I don’t wanna die?”

“No.”

“Be glad we’re not measuring dicks?”

A few eyerolls.

“Let’s kill this fucking clown?”

Bill grins.

“Let’s kill this fucking clown.”

They enter as a group, the tar pouring down the stairs.

“Well, I love what It’s done with the place.”

Beverly frowns.

“Beep beep, Richie.”

They move into the kitchen, Stan right behind Richie as he holds the gun up.

Suddenly, they’re separated.

Ben’s screaming in the room behind them as Eddie, Bill, Stan and Richie are stuck in the kitchen, banging on the door.

“That can’t be good.” Eddie says, and they turn to see the same shitty fridge from their childhood creak open.

A strange detail to note, Richie thinks, is that the fridge is on the other side of the room.

It’s a useless detail, but entirely what he decides to focus on when his best friend’s head rolls out of it.

His best friend, who is _standing right next to him, shaking with terror. _

What. The. _Fuck. _

The head rolls out, their flashlights following it as Eddie screams.

The head stares at them, grinning.

“Haha, hahahaha!” It laughs.

“What the fuck?” Stan whispers.

“Richie?” The head cries. “What’s happening to me?”

The four men watch in horror as spider legs stretch out of the head.

“You’ve gotta be fucking _kidding me._” Richie says, the four men taking a moment before the head attacks.

“Fuck!”

They lose it.

“Eddie?” Richie asks, seeing him in the corner. “You okay?”

They see a piece of saliva drop from the ceiling as Richie looks up.

“Oh, there he is.”

Then it’s screaming.

They’re all screaming.

Richie’s trying to get his gun up, but he’s too focused on the fact that his _best friend’s decaying babyface is trying to eat his fucking face._

Something happens with Eddie and Bill, and suddenly Ben’s there with an old knife.

Stan’s sobbing next to him as Beverly wipes his face with her jacket, Richie just focusing on breathing.

“I’m okay. I’m okay. Let’s go. We can do this.” He says, the two of them pulling him to his feet, Stan immediately hugging him.

The group reunited, they make their way to the basement.

~*~

“Again, I love the décor.”

“Beep fucking beep, Richie.”

His face hurts, and he’s never been so glad to have gotten that laser eye surgery in his early twenties.

Imagine having to keep track of his _glasses_, during this mess.

They reach the tunnel.

“This is it. This is where it happened.” Ben speaks up, saying what they’re all thinking.

They wade through chest-deep water, Ben, Bill and Mike carrying the cases over their heads.

Then, Beverly’s getting dragged underwater.

“Stan, stay with Eds!” Richie shouts, giving them his gun and diving underwater.

He’s searching with the rest of them, holding his breath for as long as he can.

_WherethefuckisBevwherethefuckisBevwherethefuckisBevwherethefuckisBev?_

He bumps into Ben and Bill a couple times, Ben being the one who finally pulls their friend out of the water.

“Beverly, are you okay?”

Everyone’s shouting for her to be okay, dragging each other onto the strange platform.

“Mike,” Richie says.

“Where do we go from here?”

~*~

Mike’s mumbling to himself, again.

“Is he okay?” Ben asks.

“At this point? That’s a valid question.” Richie answers.

Mike dives into the hole, climbing down with seemingly no fear.

“You guys, I can’t do it. I can’t, you saw what happened up there, I almost let you die. If you bring me down there, I’ll get you all killed.”

Stan looks at Richie, who looks at Eddie.

Beverly and Ben share a confused glance.

“Give me that.” Richie demands, getting the inhaler that Eddie’s about to use.

“No, no—”

“Gimme that, you little twerp—”

He has to use a bit of his muscle, but he gets the inhaler.

“Hey. Look at me. Who killed an evil clown before he was thirteen?”

Eddie frowns. “Me.”

Richie nods, ignoring the knowing looks Stanley is sending his way.

“Yeah. And who stabbed Bowers with a knife he pulled out of his own face?”

“Also me.”

“Who married a woman with ten times his own body mass?”

Eddie just squints.

“You’re braver than you think.”

Eddie smiles.

“Thanks, Richie.”

Richie smirks, patting his cheek.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

They go over to climb down, Beverly handing Eddie the gatepost.

“Here. It kills monsters.”

“Does it?”

She shrugs. “If you believe it does.”

“Thanks.”

~*~

They reach It’s home.

“So this has been under Derry for like. Forever?”

“Not forever. Just a few million years.”

They spread out to explore the crash site, Mike setting up the pot as Richie puts himself between Stanley and Eddie.

“What is It’s true form?” Ben asks.

“I hope it’s a puppy. Like a pomerium. I’ll shut up now.” Richie looks down.

Mike talks them through the ritual, and Richie reads something in his body language.

_He’s fucking lying. _

Bill’s burning the boat.

_No he’s not. This is gonna work. _

Eddie’s burning his inhaler.

_Yes. He is. _

Beverly’s burning a postcard.

_No. Shut the fuck up. _

Ben’s burning a yearbook page.

_You just told yourself to shut u—that’s beside the point. He’s fucking lying. _

Stan’s burning the hairnet.

_I trust him. Shut up. _

“It’s a token from the capital theater.”

“You brought an actual token?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, that’s what you’re supposed to do, man.”

“Do you have any idea how long that’s gonna take to burn?”

“Yeah, but so’s your inhaler, man. Plastic and fumes and shit.”

Mike puts his own token in, a bloody rock.

“Okay. Grab hands.”

They all form a circle as Mike tells them about the ritual.

“The second, is the gathering of tokens. This is the final step.”

The fire goes out.

“What the—”

There’s a sudden light above them.

“Don’t look at them!” Mike yells.

“Are those the Deadlights?”

“Turn light into dark! Say it!”

“Say what?” Eddie shouts.

“Turn light into dark!” They shout, eyes determinedly shut.

The deadlights go into the pot.

“Keep chanting!”

Mike’s trying to keep the lid on it, but there’s a…

_Fuck. _

Giant red _fucking balloon._

It pops.

~*~

He’s in Afghanistan.

_Explosions. _

_“C’mon, soldier! We ain’t dyin’ today!” _

_“Famous last words.”_

Then, he’s not.

“We did it! Did we do it?” Stan asks, voice muffled as he helps Richie up.

Richie’s too busy looking for Eddie.

“Did it work, Mikey?”

Their eyes widen as Pennywise laughs.

“Mike did you lie to us again?” Bill asks.

Jesus _fucking Christ. _

And the Deadlights are back.

“Twenty-seven years. I dreamt of you. I craved you. Oh, I missed you!”

“Mikey, we gotta move!”

Everyone’s calling for Mike as Richie grabs the cases.

“C’mon!”

Pennywise is a fucking spider, as they run into separate caves.

“Eddie! Stan! Come on!”

Richie lugs the cases in front of him, Eddie and Stan picking up the slack.

They stop at the entrance.

“Can It see us?”

Pennywise grins at them.

“It can see us!”

They run down the cave, seeing three doors.

_Oh, fuck. _

~*~

“God damnit!”

“Alright, not scary at all, right?” Eddie asks.

“No, nonononononono. They-They’re flipped, he’s fucking with us!”

“You sure?” Stan shouts.

“Yeah, positive!”

That’s a mistake.

“He’s not fucking with us!”

Stan opens Not Scary At All.

There’s a puppy.

“Oh, shit. I’m not falling for this shit again.”

“Oh, yeah, that thing’s a fucking monster.” Richie agrees.

“You’re both fucking morons.” Stan comments.

“I know your fucking tricks, you little _bitch_.” Richie sneers at the dog, Eddie turns around.

“Richie, It’s gone now.”

“Okay, let’s go. Wait.”

The three of them face the dog.

_“Sit.”_ Richie hisses at it, and it does.

“Oh, oh that’s really cute.”

“Yeah, that’s adorable.”

“Guys, you two deserve each other. Let’s go!” Stan shouts.

The dog grows, fangs growing bigger as it roars.

The three men scream, slamming the door as they run away.

“Next time we go with just plain Scary!” Richie shouts.

“Next time?” Two outraged voices shout back.

“C’mon! We gotta assemble this shit!”

He puts the cases down.

“Which one?”

Eddie looks indecisive.

“Explosive.” Stanley decides, opening the case.

~*~

It’s got Mike by It’s claw.

“I can’t fire with Mike so close.” Richie complains, and Stan picks up a rock.

“You’re a _madman_.” The clown sneers, about to eat their friend when Stan throws the rock.

“Hey, Fuckface!”

Richie grins. “You wanna play Truth or Dare? Here’s the truth! You’re a sloppy bitch! Yeah, that’s right, let’s dance! Yippee kay aye, motherf—”

White.

White.

White.

_I did it! I think I killed It, Richie, I think I—_

He’s on the ground.

“Richie! Rich! Hey, wake up! Yeah yeah, there he is, buddy! I did it! I think I kill—”

Richie jerks him to the side.

Because honestly? _Fuck that._

“No, you fucking didn’t. But this will.” Stanley stands above them, grenade launcher ready to fire.

He aims, and he pulls the motherfucking trigger.

~*~

“It’s not dead yet. We still gotta kill It. How?”

“We can force it back.”

“We make it small.” Eddie whispers.

“I did it with the leper. I made it small, it seemed so weak.”

Mike says something. “All living things must abide by the rules of its physical form.”

The others form a plan, Richie focusing on the case labeled _fire_.

“Stanley, you’re a genius.”

He assembles it under a minute.

“Let’s go distract.”

~*~

“I am a devourer of worlds!”

“Not to us, you’re not. You’re just a clown.”

Richie can see the hurt in Pennywise’s eyes.

Beverly and Ben join in, Bill yelling insults as they scream at It.

“Just a fucking clown!” Eddie, Stan and Richie join in.

“A motherfucking stupid muppet!” Ben screams.

They force It back, running toward It as It shrinks, smaller and smaller.

“Just a clown.” They chant.

“Clown. Clown. Clown. Clown.”

It looks like a fried egg.

Mike’s the one to reach out, grabbing the heart and holding it out for them all to crush.

They do it easily.

Joyfully, even.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

~*~

Richie doesn’t really know what to do, after the quarry.

The Deadlights confirmed that he is, in fact, in love with Eddie Kaspbrack, as regular as he feels, and when he tells Stan, his best friend just gives him the driest look in his arsenal.

“Go tell him, then.”

Hank even pats him on the back, on the way to talk to Eddie, like he somehow knows.

He really does suck at keeping secrets, huh.

~*~

“Hey, you.”

Eddie’s changing his bandage, smiling at him as best he can.

Richie leans against the doorframe, just watching him for a moment.

“Hey, Rich. I, uh. I called my wife.”

Oh. Yeah. That.

“We’re getting divorced.”

…What?

Eddie’s eyebrows lift.

“Yeah, turns out I’m madly in love with my childhood friend who I forgot existed for the past twenty-seven years.”

Richie’s eyebrows lift, this time.

“That’s interesting. Who’s the lucky friend?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Stan.”

Richie grins.

~*~

Every month, the Losers meet up.

Never in Derry.

All seven of them find time to hang out, some even moving across the country to be closer to their family.

Eddie moves to LA, living with Richie until they eventually just say _fuck it_ and get married, a few months after Ben and Beverly.

Hank and Dean are the flower boys.

Richie _knows_ he’s gonna regret that decision.

Fuches is still a part of his life, yeah, but the first time he tried to fuck with Richie’s head with the Losers around, they kicked his ass.

He’s terrified of them, and more importantly, he’s terrified of Richie.

He smiles, when he thinks of the last time he saw his old mentor.

Christmas, two years after everything with It.

He’d tried to drag Richie back into the life, kept talking up a job in front of the Losers.

They each took turns telling him exactly how he could merrily fuck right off.

Richie shifts, looking at his husband as Eddie leans into his side, watching Hank try to teach Beverly, Stan, Patricia, and Bill the Chechen dance.

_Yeah,_ he thinks, feeling something he hadn’t felt since they were all twelve, until they met in that restaurant.

_I’m happy. _

edn


End file.
